


the littlest death

by feeltripping



Series: can't feel my face (when I'm with you) [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bottom Lexa, Dominant Clarke, F/F, Multiple Orgasms, Praise Kink, Strap-Ons, Table Sex, gagging, subby Lexa, what do I even tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 13:50:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7847557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feeltripping/pseuds/feeltripping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clexa. Multiple orgasms, subby Lexa, panty play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the littlest death

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly don't even know how to describe or tag this. Maybe when I die and go straight to hell for my sin the devil can tell me

“You can do it,” Clarke murmurs, her cheek pressed against Lexa’s, her fingers pressing bruises into Lexa’s hips. She thrusts again, lazy, and enjoys the buzzing against her clit. Lexa groans, long and pained.

“Please,” she mumbles, her eyes screwed tightly shut, “please Clarke, I can’t--” her voice breaks; a tear slips from her eye, falling down the side of her face and melting into her hairline.

“Sshh.” Clarke bites her earlobe gently, tugging. “Be a good girl and spread wide for me.”

Lexa shakes her head even as she obeys, her knees parting as wide as she can, the vibrating strap on buzzing away inside her, hidden by the only scrap of clothing Lexa still has on, the black side tie lacy panties Clarke picked out just for her. Clarke reaches back and checks the fit of the harness, shaken a little loose from the night’s long activities. Lexa makes a noise that might be Clarke’s name, begging. It’s too garbled to parse, but the intent is clear: she’s desperately pleading for mercy.

Clarke pulls out and Lexa doesn’t even move, her eyes still shut. She’s shuddering without pause, twitching against the sweaty sheets. “Roll over.” Clarke nudges her side, and it takes Lexa three tries and Clarke’s help to flop onto her belly, but she spreads her legs as soon as she’s settled, tries to get to all fours and can’t. Clarke tucks a pillow under her hips, lifting Lexa up with a faint grunt, smoothing a palm over her belly gently. “What a good girl,” Clarke soothes as she slides back in, holding Lexa’s panties to the side until she bottoms out, slow and careful. “You’ve been so good already, I know you can give me one more.”

“I can’t,” Lexa begs, muffled from where she’s pressed her face into the sheets. “Please, I can’t.”

“I want one more.” Clarke puts a little steel in her voice, then pauses when Lexa sobs, biting at the mattress. “Color.”

Lexa takes a long time to answer, shaking, and Clarke rubs her hands down Lexa’s flank, massaging gently. Clarke’s about to pull out when Lexa finally speaks, a small, tiny whisper. “Green.” Clarke hesitates, but Lexa lifts her hips and pushes back, so Clarke winds the fingers of one hand through Lexa’s long curly hair, finds a few tangles and lets them catch against her knuckles. She pulls Lexa’s head back at the same time she tilts her hips forward, snapping hard, and likes the sound of her skin slapping wetly against Lexa’s, obscene. She sets a pace, not as bruising as she had earlier, for Lexa’s first and second orgasm, or as slow and easy as she had for Lexa’s fourth and fifth, a break in the middle to make Lexa come on her tongue for number three. “Hands,” she snaps, and Lexa winds her fingers through the bedframe.

Clarke braces her free hand on the small of Lexa’s back, then switches to underneath Lexa’s stomach, her index finger slipping into Lexa’s bellybutton, and pulls her back against Clarke’s thrusts. Lexa’s panties roll and tug, twisting around the toy and her hips. “One more,” Clarke murmurs, draping herself against Lexa’s back and sighing at the slick skin against her chest, their sweat mixing. “One more and we’re done, baby.”

Lexa moans, low and guttural. “Clarke,” she says, and her voice rasps like shredded glass.

Clarke straightens and goes harder, faster, her own thighs straining, her chest heaving. “One more,” she promises, “you can do it. I know you can.” She drags her nails down Lexa’s spine, hard enough to leave red lines that’ll stay for at least two days, maybe three. Lexa jolts under her, and she does it again, either side of Lexa’s tattoo. “So good,” Clarke croons, “you’re so good for me.” Lexa sobs again, her hands clenched tight, her knuckles white. “Come on, Lexa. Come for me.” 

She keeps it up, the praise coming easily to her tongue, showering Lexa with how soft her skin is, how her pink lips bow so perfectly, how she’s so beautiful it takes Clarke’s breath away to be so lucky, how she was so good for the week before, when Clarke had her on no touch no come. “Remember, babe? When I ate you out for an hour and you still told me when you had to stop, take a break? You cried so pretty at the end but you never asked me to stop.” Tension coils in Lexa’s spine and her head snaps up, the shadows not quite hiding the bites Clarke’s peppered across her throat, one hard enough to draw break skin. Clarke remembers the taste of a single drop of Lexa’s blood on her tongue and drops over Lexa’s back, heavy. She grinds down, punishing. “Come for me,” she orders, and on command Lexa’s back arches, and Clarke imagines she can feel her clenching and fluttering around the buzzing rubber buried in her wet swollen cunt. She comes from that more than the pressure inside her from the toy or the buzzing against her clit, Lexa obeying her so perfectly, giving her every last thing she has.

Lexa stays pulled like a bowstring for another five seconds, then collapses like a cut puppet, completely limp. Clarke smothers the back of her shoulders in kisses, closed mouthed, licks the sweat from between the knobs her her spine. “Babe?” Lexa doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t move. “ _Lex_.”

“Mrgh,” Lexa manages. Clarke bites under her ear and she barely twitches. “Cla--” Lexa’s voice gives out in the middle of her name. She makes a soft whine, more of a vocalized exhale than an attempt at communication.

Clarke reaches over and slips Lexa’s still fingers from the bedframe. “So good,” she says again, tucking Lexa’s arms against her sides, because she’s so, so blessed. “Deep breath, baby. Relax.” She waits until she sees Lexa’s ribcage inflate before pulling out. Lexa makes another garbled wheezing noise.

Her legs are wobbly when she slides off the bed, and she can already feel the ache in her calves, her thighs, her arms. She’ll be stiff as hell tomorrow, and that’s nothing to how Lexa will feel. She undoes the harness and lets it fall as she goes to the bathroom; that cleanup is best left to another day. She wets the softest cloth, the one she’d set out earlier, and the other, dryer handtowel. She cleans herself up quickly and when she emerges Lexa hasn’t moved an inch, her legs still splayed open, facedown. Clarke smiles. She eases the panties down and sets them carefully aside, where she’ll be able to find them in the morning, and rubs at the red indents they’d left behind.

Lexa whimpers when Clarke slides the cloth between her legs, and Clarke can’t help slipping just one finger into her to feel how swollen she is, how tender. Lexa whimpers again and Clarke shushes her, gentle, pulling away. She finishes cleaning her up and tosses the towels aside. There’s a blanket on the floor, within reach, the incredibly unbelievably soft one Lexa had bought her for Christmas and then rolled around on under their first shared tree, crooked and mostly bare but theirs, shamelessly stealing it from her and refusing to relinquish it. She spreads it out on the side of the bed, thankful they’d splurged on such a huge mattress, extravagant for a starter apartment, but so worth it. 

“C’mon,” she murmurs, and rolls Lexa onto it. Lexa goes with her movements but doesn’t seem to have the strength to help, her limbs flopping. Clarke arranges her into a comfortable position, on her back, and by the time she’s curled up next to her and tugged another blanket over their bodies Lexa is snoring, soft and snuffly. Clarke nuzzles into her, sucking a mouthful of Lexa’s throat into her mouth and releasing, gentle, before closing her eyes and sighing.

++

The next day is Sunday, and Clarke dotes on her, feeds her the expensive sushi she likes by hand, pulling a face when Lexa demands more wasabi, making her drink glass after glass of water and helping her limp to the bathroom, laying her out on freshly laundered sheets and rubbing her sore muscles with oil until she smells like jasmine and roses and is warm putty under Clarke’s hands.

++

The day after that Clarke hovers while Lexa steps out of the shower, toweling off. “You’re sure you’re up to it?”

Lexa rolls her eyes. “It’s graduate school, Clarke, not a fight to the death. I only have two classes today, and I’m fine.” Her eyes go a little dark and teasing. “Fine enough to stay in tonight.”

Clarke lets herself be pulled into a kiss, teeth and tongue and sparks. “In that case…” She trails off, offering, and Lexa pulls back.

“Uh oh,” she teases, and Clarke pinches her hip. Then she lifts Lexa up on the sink and spends a minute lavishing attention on Lexa’s breasts, her pretty nipples, pebbled and pink, biting back over old bruises to make them bright and bold again. 

“You’re my favorite canvas,” she hums, against Lexa’s sternum, and Lexa chuckles. “Stay,” Clarke orders, and goes into the bedroom, into the nightstand by the bed, the bottom drawer. She comes back into the bathroom and can’t help her smile, Lexa perfectly still where Clarke left her. She offers Lexa the fabric and Lexa takes it from her hand, puzzled.

“Are these--from--?” Lexa turns her panties over in her hand, her face pensive. Clarke bites her lip. “This is… kind of gross, Clarke.”

Clarke steps between Lexa’s legs, her hands on Lexa’s knees. She pulls her shirt off and watches Lexa’s gaze go cloudy, immediately fixed on Clarke’s breasts. “Please, baby? It’ll be good. I always make it good for you, don’t I?”

“Yeah,” Lexa says, absently.

Clarke thrusts her chest out, slightly. Lexa eyes go distinctly glazed over. “So you’ll do it?”

“Uh huh,” Lexa says.

“Great!” Clarke yanks her shirt back on and snatches the panties from Lexa’s hands, tugging them around her ankles and up her calves. 

Lexa blinks rapidly. “What?”

“Just two classes,” Clarke reminds her. She taps on Lexa’s hip. “Off.”

Lexa slides off the counter, automatic. “What did I just agree to do?”

“Be the best girlfriend in the world.” Clarke adjusts the panties around Lexa’s hips, and Lexa winces.

“You don’t think it’s gross?”

“Hot,” Clarke promises, and kisses Lexa again, until they’re both a little breathless. “Get dressed, you don’t want to be late.”

++

 _Colour_ Clarke texts her in the early afternoon, leaning against the break room wall during a lull between patients. 

Her phone buzzes while she’s treating a kid with a broken arm, and she has to wait until she’s drawn a little smiley face on his new neon green cast and pressed a lollipop into his hand before ducking into the locker room. Instead of a message Lexa had sent a photo, shitty florescent lighting--the bathroom stall of a university building--and her inner thighs, paler than the rest of her sunkissed body, dirty panties centered squarely against her. Clarke groans. _Tease_ she responds. Lexa sends back an emoji, the winky face.

++

Lexa is waiting when Clarke gets home, sitting on their dining room table in the blue lacy bra that makes Clarke crazy and long sharp strappy stilettos and nothing else. Clarke kicks the door shut and throws her bag aside. She shucks her scrubs and undoes her bra one-handed, too impatient to tease. “Should I leave my crocs on?”

Lexa wrinkles her nose. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”

“Fuck you, these are the only things that keep me alive through a fifty five hour shift.”

Lexa sighs. She spreads her legs open. “Do you want to keep talking about your tragic taste in footwear, or do you want to fuck me?”

Clarke climbs up on the table, pushing Lexa down onto her back. She lowers her voice to a growl. “I think you’re mistaken in who is going to fuck who.”

“Whom,” Lexa mumbles, but she’s already going pliant under Clarke’s body. 

“Where’s the outfit I picked out for you?” Clarke kisses the tip of Lexa’s nose, and Lexa lifts a hand, the panties dangling from a finger. Clarke snags them. “How was it?”

“Pretty gross,” Lexa mutters, faintly put out. “Cold and wet and just… kinda gross.”

Clarke brings Lexa’s wrist to her mouth and kisses her fluttering pulse. “You didn’t like it at all?”

Lexa sighs. She hooks her legs around Clarke’s waist, pulling her closer. “I liked that you liked it.”

Clarke sucks two of Lexa’s fingers in her mouth and swirls before letting them slide out, stringing drool. Lexa groans and Clarke fits her hand around Lexa’s throat, squeezing gently. “I liked it a lot. You sure you’re up for this, babe? Not too sore still?”

Lexa leans the tip of her right stiletto into Clarke’s calf, a sharp pinprick of pain. “Green,” she murmurs, and Clarke doesn’t hide her delight. She flattens herself against Lexa, until they’re both lying flat on the table, Clarke’s weight settled possessively over Lexa’s slender frame.

“I’ll be gentle with you,” Clarke murmurs. She taps on the underside of Lexa’s jaw and Lexa’s mouth falls open, obedient. Clarke taps again and she sticks her tongue out. “Good girl.” She tucks the panties into Lexa’s mouth, angling them crotch first, and presses her thumb up until Lexa’s jaw closes. “Suck.” Lexa’s cheeks hollow, her throat working. “Don’t stop.” Clarke runs her nails along Lexa’s cheekbones, not hard enough to mark, just enough for Lexa to feel the tingle, and then down her throat, a little harder. She suckles at Lexa’s jugular, feeling Lexa’s heartbeat against her tongue. “Show me.”

Lexa opens her mouth and Clarke prods the fabric. Good, but it can get better. “Suck.” Clarke leans on her side, slipping an arm under Lexa’s head to use as a pillow. She slips the other hand down Lexa’s body to slip inside her, and Lexa moans. Clarke pinches her ribs, hard enough Lexa yelps. “Be good,” Clarke warns, and Lexa tips her head back as far as she can, baring her throat in submission. She’s sucking so hard Clarke can hear it, a thick wet slurping sound, and Clarke gives her two fingers as a reward. Lexa cants her hips up, and Clarke starts a slow thrust. 

“Mmm,” Lexa hums, around her makeshift gag, and Clarke smiles when she drops a kiss to Lexa’s shoulder. She fits their hips together, one hand curling her fingers just the way Lexa likes it. 

“Feel that?” she asks. Her panties are damp, and she starts a grind down on Lexa’s thigh, in time with her thrusting fingers. “Next time you’ll wear my panties, these ones, what do you think?” Lexa groans, her hips jolting off the table hard. “You like that?” It’s awkward, but Clarke manages to position herself so she can thrust down into Lexa and grind her hips down and still have a free hand. She holds it over Lexa’s mouth and nose first, feeling her breath puff out hot and desperate, before sliding it down to curl around Lexa’s throat. She squeezes, experimental, and Lexa clenches around her fingers, fluttering. Clarke makes a note for future reference. 

Lexa keens in her throat, the sound she makes right before she comes. Clarke can feel the noise, against her palm.

“Open,” Clarke orders, pressing two fingertips against Lexa’s lips. She slips them in, shifting the panties around until she can feel Lexa’s tongue. Lexa closes her mouth around her fingers and resumes sucking, and Clarke groans. “Fuck, you’re so hot. No games tonight baby, okay? Come when it feels good.” Clarke’s close but she keeps her rhythm, until Lexa shakes apart, her teeth coming down on Clarke’s knuckle as she spasms. As soon as Lexa relaxes Clarke slips her fingers away and braces herself on the table, slamming her hips down and twisting on Lexa’s thigh, desperate. 

Lexa’s hands land on her hips, helping her, and then two fingers tap against her lips, hesitant. Clarke opens her mouth and Lexa presses a thumb flat against Clarke’s tongue, an index finger against the sharp point of Clarke’s canine. “Clarke,” she says, muffled through the fabric and spit in her mouth, and Clarke comes, just like that, on command.


End file.
